When we returned to the shop, Ethan climbed into Marcus’s chair.
Marcus grinned.
“Back already?”
Ethan grinned back.
“Check behind both ears this time.”
Marcus laughed.
“Both ears. Every haircut until you’re forty.”
I laughed too.
Standing there watching my son act like a normal nine-year-old again nearly made me cry.
When we got home, we opened another box of Ryan’s things.
For three years, I had believed protecting Ethan meant helping him move forward without living too much in the shadow of his father.
Don’t dwell.
Don’t make him sad.
Keep life moving.
I had misunderstood him completely.
Ethan wasn’t trying to live in Ryan’s shadow.
He was trying desperately to remember his father’s face before the memory faded.
He wasn’t trapped in the past.
He was reaching for something that was slipping away.
And I had not always helped him hold onto it.
